


The Witching Hour

by TheSeabear



Series: Stavik [4]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Halloween, M/M, Space Husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 22:03:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSeabear/pseuds/TheSeabear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A project that began as an attempt to study the diversity of the crew of the Enterprise leads Stavik to study his fathers' relationship. And it's Halloween, so Kirk goes trick-or-treating dressed in Spock's uniform. Turns out, Vulcans are possessive. Who knew?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Research

**Author's Note:**

> For Talltree-san, who asked for a Halloween fic, and dana, who suggested Stavik’s POV. I tried to make it really different from DB2020’s fic, which I adore. Hopefully it’s still okay. I don't have a Beta, so all mistakes are mine. Happy reading!

Spock looked at his bondmate feeling irritation stir, quickly followed by exasperated amusement. 

“I do not understand the objective in holding a holiday celebration for which no members of the Enterprise are able to appropriately prepare,” he informed his captain. 

“It’s for morale, Spock,” Jim told him. The words came out muffled. Captain Kirk was – in the most captainly way possible – shuffling around on hands and knees in their closet. He was searching for something suitable to wear to the Halloween party that the department heads had decided on four months ago. 

Valentines Day was ruled out almost immediately; encouraging impulsive relationships and fraternization – though it had been stricken from the Starfleet ‘Do Not’ list – was not healthy for a crew that lived and operated in such close quarters. Kirk and Spock seemed to be the outliers when it came to professional efficiency in spite of their romantic relationship (or perhaps because of it). 

Starfleet had already granted a rare short-term shore leave scheduled for the few days surrounding the Terran celebration of Christmas, which coincided with an Andorian holiday and a minor Betazoid festival. So that was ruled out as well. 

Thanksgiving – one of Kirk’s most favorite holidays – was only celebrated in North America. It only applied to humans and a small fraction of humans at that. Chekov had heard Kirk talking about it earlier and proposed a number of Russian celebrations as alternatives. So Thanksgiving was tossed through the window. 

A number of widespread interplanetary festivals found their way onto the table. Of all of them, only two were feasible to be practiced on a starship. And then Uhura proposed Halloween. The original practice of observing the proximity between the living world and the dead translated into many similar customs on a number of Federation planets. 

So they were having a Halloween party. Spock did not approve. 

“Scotty says the replicators shouldn’t be taxed with elaborate costume ideas from hundreds of crew members,” Kirk said, restating a fact that Spock already knew. “So we’ll just have to make due with what we’ve got.”

“You will be attending,” Spock corrected, “I shall be in Lab Three, conducting an experiment on Ranifin Cnidarian venom. 

“Aw, Spock.” Jim pulled himself out of the closet to give his First Officer a disapproving frown. “All of the senior officers will be there, along with a lot of the rest of the crew. You should at least make an appearance.”

“I disagree,” the Vulcan replied evenly. “With so many in attendance, it is very unlikely that my presence will be missed. Of the two of us, you are the more charismatic and outgoing. It is logical to assume that your company will be in greater demand than my own.”

“Fine,” Kirk retorted, scowling for good measure. “But I’m taking Stavik with me.”

Spock paused. “It is unlikely that he will be comfortable in such a setting.”

“That’s what I said, but he came and asked if he could go,” he said. “He wants to observe ‘the way cultures come together to celebrate a common theme.’”

“Logical,” Spock agreed. Kirk shrugged and returned to the closet. 

…

 

In the three years Stavik had lived on the Enterprise, he had seen and learned much about cultures external to his own. The ability to study newly discovered planets alongside professionals of Starfleet was an opportunity he acknowledged with intense curiosity and respect. He did not take it for granted. No other Vulcan child had the first-hand experience he gained on a daily basis. 

Now he faced a very new opportunity: to observe the amalgamation of diversity on the USS Enterprise in the combined celebration of Halloween. While the community of the starship was relatively small and isolated, the immense variety of species that made up the crew gave it a richness that would otherwise be stagnant. 

His father, Captain James Tiberius Kirk, would arrive in four point six minutes to collect him for the party. But he wasn’t surprised when the door slid open three and a half minutes early. 

“I thought you wanted to go to the party,” Kirk told him, taking in the black shirt and black pants he wore. 

“My wishes have not changed,” Stavik said, tucking his hands comfortably behind his back. 

“Okay. So what are you supposed to be?” he asked. When he’d told Stavik earlier that the party came with a strict costume-only dress code, he’d been confounded for all of eleven minutes before a logical solution presented itself. 

“I am attending the party as a young, Vulcan male student.” 

Kirk shrugged. “That works. Actually, I bet a lot of people are going to have the same idea. Ready to go?”

Stavik grabbed his shoulder bag from where it hung next to the closet. They departed side by side. He glanced over to see his father’s costume. “You are a science officer?”

Kirk grinned. He looked down at the blue shirt he’d stolen from Spock’s drawer. “Yeah. I was going to go all the way and be Spock, but I figure it’s not very professional to show up for Alpha shift tomorrow with half of my eyebrows shaved off.”

“Indeed.” Stavik found himself imagining his human father with black hair and angled brows. The severity of the picture did not fit with Kirk’s happy personality. When the image in his mind began to chuckle and grin, he disposed of it immediately. 

“Knowing you,” Kirk said, “you’ve already done preliminary research for tonight.”

“I have.”

“Tell me about it.” 

When Stavik had begun this stage of his life – living with the crew of the Enterprise, spending time with his new parental figures – he had doubted Kirk’s interest in academia, labeling his behavior as a polite attempt to ‘get to know’ him. But as time went on and he observed his father more closely, he realized the sharp brilliance of the man who captained the Federation’s flagship. Despite how much Kirk played it down, he was every bit as intelligent and curious as Stavik. 

“The Aenar subspecies from Andoria practices ritual nudity as a form of mourning for departed loved ones,” he supplied. “In addition, many attempt to disguise their gender to avoid being recognized by returning spirits and malevolent forces. The heightened magnetic flux from the planet at the time of the annual celebration has been proven to affect –”

He went on. People passed by them. They smiled and nodded, drawing Kirk’s notice. Some might think that he wasn’t paying attention to Stavik at all; more than once, he’d heard rumors that Kirk was a neglectful parent for his aloof, reckless attitude. But he knew better. Kirk always paid attention; the fact that others believed the front and underestimated him was an advantage. In truth, there was no one on the Enterprise as engaged or as perceptive as the captain. So he talked and he knew his father was listening. 

The party had to be set up somewhere out of the way; somewhere that wouldn’t hinder the efficiency of the crew if an emergency came up. A cargo bay had been cleared and staged appropriately. 

When they arrived, Stavik learned that ‘appropriate’ meant gaudy and chaotic. Large tables had been set for a feast – following the Bolian tradition – and Flovawr trees stood sentry at each door and a the foot of the metal stairs leading to the second level. Thin paper banners in the Earth colors purple and orange hung like tapestries from the bulkheads in addition to the traditional Betazoid maroon and gold. There was a dark green banner hanging next to the stairs with Golic calligraphy painted in black down the middle. Kirk pointed to it. 

“I didn’t know Vulcans had a holiday like Halloween,” he commented. Stavik tilted his head. 

“They do not,” he told his father. “I suspect this is an effort to include the Vulcan katra as a form of spiritual existence. The Womb of Fire of ancient belief, wherein the katra is born and dissolved, is often regarded as the idea most similar to afterlife in Vulcan culture. The Romulan belief in Vorta Vor stems from original Vulcan philosophy.”

Kirk nodded. Stavik turned to survey the small crowd of people who had arrived before they did. He recognized all of them as members of the bridge crew, engineering, and medical. All of the senior staff were present, with the exception of his sa-mekh. 

“Sa-mekh has chosen to spend his evening elsewhere?” he asked. 

“Yeah, he’s got something going on in Lab Three.” Kirk flashed him a smile. “If you want to join him at any point, you’re welcome to. This thing is supposed to last five hours; you might get bored.”

“I will not succumb to boredom, Father,” he assured. Kirk clapped a hand on his shoulder and walked forward to greet Ensign Chekov, who was waving at them from where he stood with Lieutenant Sulu. 

Stavik stood alone for a moment and wondered where to begin. Several seating areas had been temporarily installed in the space. Their close proximity to the growing crowd made the location desirable, but he did not want to endanger his research by becoming socially incorporated in the interactions of the crew. So he scanned the space for another option. 

Eventually, he saw that the second level – a loft-like space used for storage of domestic necessities – was relatively empty and had a vantage point from which he could view the ebb and flow of individuals in the room below. 

He pulled a PADD from his shoulder bag after ascending the stairs and sat near the railing to begin his observations. Within thirty minutes, larger groups started arriving together, smiling and laughing jovially. He catalogued the time next to his remarks on their behavior. 

His father had been right. Many people arrived with no attempt at a costume, simply coming as themselves. Some had followed Kirk’s idea and borrowed clothes from another person, he noted as Dr. Marcus and Lieutenant Uhura walked in laughing, wearing each other’s uniforms. 

A few had been more creative. Stavik saw many Starfleet regulation sheets twisted into togas and a few simply draped over people’s heads. He did not understand the latter and made an annotation in the margins of his work to find out. 

The most impressive – marked by Kirk’s howl of laughter – was Montgomery Scott’s costume. He waddled into the cargo bay enclosed from shoulders to knees in a metal cylinder. Stavik strained to hear the engineer’s explanation. 

“We had a wee bit of conduit insulation left over,” he laughed. “So I borrowed it.”

“What exactly are you?” Uhura asked, walking over with a beverage. 

“Jefferies tube,” Scotty proclaimed proudly. 

“And how do you expect to hold a drink?” She looked pointedly at the metal tube, which pinned the Lieutenant Commander’s arms to his side. Scotty frowned and looked at the table laden with drinks. 

“Is there actually alcohol?” he asked incredulously. He began to wiggle and shift, trying to get the tube off of himself. It appeared the metal sheath was stuck. 

Kirk laughed again, the sound of his mirth resounding in the cavernous space. Keenser abandoned his Chief Officer and went to inspect the bite-sized sandwiches. Finally, Sulu and Kirk had pity on the struggling Scotsman and helped him out of the cylinder. 

“It’s synthahol, Scotty, not whiskey,” Sulu told him. That didn’t stop the engineer from making a beeline towards the drinks. 

Stavik turned his attention to the other groups. Music began to pulse around him. People thronged to the center of the room. Carol Marcus and Uhura dragged Dr. McCoy into the crowd. A few groups sat at the large tables and chatted loudly about random gossip over the food. 

After two hours, he had made one conclusion: whatever cultural roots existed to prompt the celebration of holidays like the Terrans’ Halloween, contemporary interpretations allowed for such occasions to be used as opportunities to engage in impulsive behaviors for ‘fun.’ 

As a result of this conclusion, he made the best use of his position to study something else: the way his father behaved without Spock nearby. They functioned optimally as a pair, rarely performing ship-related duties apart. Now, Kirk was alone to ‘cut loose’ – in the human vernacular – with his crew, knowing Spock was not in attendance, nor was he expected to arrive at any future point. 

The first difference appeared almost immediately. 

Kirk floated from group to group like a butterfly, laughing and talking familiarly with his crew as if he’d been a part of their conversation the whole time. His arms were crossed, on hand grasping a tumbler of half-consumed synthahol. He was happy. 

But he didn’t touch anyone. There was an invisible perimeter of space around his body that he allowed no one to penetrate for more than a few seconds. Stavik watched the ease with which his father moved and realized he might not even be aware of this. 

When he stood in the company of Spock – on the bridge, during a diplomatic meeting, inspecting the departments – he touched his bondmate frequently. Brushing hands when no one was looking (except Stavik), touching knees when they sat in the Mess, a reassuring shoulder squeeze before or after a particularly harrowing mission. When they relaxed together in their quarters, the touches increased significantly in regularity. These were the moments Stavik was privy to that no one else could see. 

When his fathers played chess, or spent a quiet evening completing reports, Spock finally responded by instigating his own gentle touches. 

The older Vulcan was in the science labs for the night. Kirk seemed to feel his absence on a subconscious level and held himself with a degree of containment that could be called simple professionalism. Stavik wondered if they communicated over their bond in instances like these, or if Kirk gave his bondmate space to complete his work and vice versa. 

After an additional fifteen minutes, he concluded there was nothing left to observe and gathered his bag. Science Lab Three sat tucked back in a relatively secluded portion of the ship. 

“Greetings, Sa-mekh,” he said softly as he entered, his comfort level greatly improved without the pounding music and loud conversation of the crew. 

Spock looked up from the data readout he was studying and acknowledged him, “Stavik. Were you successful in gathering information for your research?”

“Affirmative,” he replied, finding an appropriate seat on a stool by a desk, out of the way of the experiment set up. “I have found that for this particular group of subjects, there are very few cultural ties related to the celebration at hand; they use the occasion merely as an excuse to dance and drink alcohol in the company of peers. My hypothesis was incorrect.”

“Such observations may provide an alternate prospect in studying how residence in a secluded environment creates a new culture among a diverse group of individuals,” the older Vulcan mused. 

“Indeed,” he agreed. He looked over the lab space, set up with a myriad of the complex instruments. “What is the status of the experiment?”

Spock and Stavik briefly discussed the specifics of compounds found in venom from a species of jellyfish-like creatures from Ranifin. His sa-mekh explained the few with which Stavik had been unfamiliar. Spock was too curious and adventurous to give up his desire to explore, but it struck the boy how adept the adult Vulcan was at teaching. 

There had been a time between their first five-year mission and the one on which they embarked now that Kirk and Spock had seriously considered putting down sedentary roots and pursuing teaching positions full-time at the Academy for the sake of their son. It had taken private discussions with Admiral Archer and Ambassador Spock for them to decide to continue exploring space, not to mention a long argumentative paper from Stavik submitted to both their PADDs. Following the automatic computerized alert that signaled both copies had been read, he had staged what he had called ‘an intervention’ at the dinner table. 

The following day, a still-laughing Kirk and his First Officer submitted acceptance of their second five-year voyage. 

He pulled himself back to the present and dug his PADD from the bag. They worked silently, each totally involved in his own research. Every now and then, Stavik looked up to observe his sa-mekh. 

His intense focus and efficient speed were both parts of his personality with which Stavik was familiar. Where Kirk was openly affectionate and devoted, Spock offered quiet support by proposing solutions to problems and answering questions logically. While the adult Vulcan did not always approve of Kirk’s tactile expressions of love where Stavik was concerned – he preferred a more Vulcan-like approach to parenting – they both recognized this tendency was a part of Jim’s nature and both quietly cherished it. 

Without Kirk nearby, Spock remained wholly involved in his work. Stavik made annotations in his notes about both individuals. 

Thirty-seven minutes had passed before an interruption brought them both to a halt. Spock looked up seconds before the door opened and Kirk arrived, hands tucked into his pockets. Stavik’s eyes darted to his sa-mekh. An almost imperceptible tension around his eyes relaxed, his attention caught by the sight of his captain. 

“Hey guys.” Jim smiled. “Am I interrupting?”

Stavik shook his head, “Negative.”

He turned his grin to his bondmate. “I didn’t hear anything from you, so that must mean I am interrupting.”

“Is the shirt that you are wearing from my drawer?”

Kirk’s smile widened. “Yes. You didn’t answer me.”

“I am at a stage that does not require immediate attention,” Spock supplied, momentarily appearing distracted for some reason, “but I cannot leave it for long.”

“Alright,” Kirk said. “How’s your project coming, Stavik? Did you get bored?”

“Negative. I have decided to amend my hypothesis,” he told his father. “Until such a time that another opportunity presents itself, I have decided to pursue another undertaking.”

“Oh,” he said. “Alright.”

Stavik heard the hesitant pause. “Yes?”

“Some of the skeleton crews that couldn’t make it to the party decided to put out snacks and candy and stuff for everyone else to go trick-or-treating. I was wondering if you’d like to make a few rounds with me.” Kirk shrugged.

“Confections of sugar and artificial flavorings are hardly nutritious,” Spock protested, eyes focused once again on his work. He reached for an eyedropper and dipped it into a solution. Stavik silently agreed with his statement. 

“So I’ll go trick-or-treating. Stavik can be my escort,” Kirk told them. “Wanna come?”

The young Vulcan considered the offer for a moment, then turned off his PADD. “I do.”

He slid off the stool and stowed the PADD in the bag again. “Cool,” Kirk said, turning. “See you in a bit, Spock?”

“I shall be finished at 2045 hours.”

“’kay. Good luck with the venom.”

As Stavik followed his father out of the lab, he looked over his shoulder briefly and saw Spock’s eyes were turned to watch them go. Before the door shut, he was once again engaged in his tests. 

“How was your night?” Kirk asked as they walked through a deserted hall. 

“Productive in spite of my misconceptions of the culture of the crew,” he replied. “May I ask a query?”

“Sure, always.”

“The celebration this evening,” he began. “Was it typical of human traditions surrounding Halloween?”

“For adults,” Kirk answered, “yes. People on Earth consider it a holiday for children. Dressing up, getting candy – most adults only do those kinds of things to be funny or social.”

“Are there any remaining human cultures that continue to practice the superstitious version of Halloween?” he asked. 

His father tilted his head to the side. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but that would be a good question for Uhura. She knows a lot about Earth’s history even though her specialty focuses more on alien culture.”

Stavik nodded. He respected Lieutenant Uhura for her depth of knowledge and made a mental note to repeat his question to her. 

They toured the various departments – some, multiple times. Linguistics had made brownies without nuts and Kirk seemed to be indulging in the rare opportunity to not have an allergic reaction. 

“I would offer you a bite,” his father said as they left for the third time, “but Spock would kill me.”

“I doubt very much that Sa-mekh would go to such extremes, given his devotedness to your relationship and his respect for your station,” he countered. “Though he might reset the replicators again.”

Kirk chuckled at the reminder. On April Fool’s Day, Kirk and Scotty had gotten into a prank war, which culminated in all of the uniform shirts in the captain’s quarters being shrunk one and a half sizes in the laundry. Unfortunately, that included both the Command golds and Science blues. In silent retaliation, Spock had reprogrammed all of the replicators on the Enterprise to give Kirk plomeek soup – which he hated – and spinach salad instead of whatever order he placed. 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “When you turn twenty-one, I’m making you brownies, chocolate cake, hot chocolate, and my mom’s famous chocolate pie.”

“Of which you will no doubt consume the majority.”

His father laughed again. “Probably. You’re too health-conscious to over-indulge.”

As they approached the hall that broke off into their respective quarters, Stavik turned to the man. “Happy Halloween, Father.”

Kirk’s smile was radiant. “Happy Halloween, Stavik. Thanks for going with me. I know it wasn’t really your thing, so I appreciate you humoring me. It was fun.”

“I, too, value the time I have with you,” Stavik said, a shot of pleasure going through him. After four years, it still occasionally came as a shock that his parents – both Kirk and Spock – loved him, unquestionably. It was a sentiment he fiercely treasured, although Vulcan teachings suggested such emotions had no place in a logical mind. “Goodnight, Father.”

“’night, kid. Love you. Sleep well.” Kirk ran an affectionate hand over his head. Stavik turned after the captain retreated and went into his room to ready for bed. 

 

…

 

Kirk entered his quarters with a smile. His kid rocked. 

He finally understood all of those parents he’d hated so much growing up – the ones who came to all of their kids’ soccer matches and school plays, the ones who toted ‘My Honors Student is Smarter Than Your Smart Car’ bumper stickers. He grinned. Next time the Enterprise went in for a re-fit, he was going to slap a decal on the hull with some obnoxious declaration of parental pride. 

You will do no such thing. Spock’s censure came loud and clear through their bond. 

Oh, hey, he greeted, feeling another form of happiness spread through him. You almost done?

Indeed. I am sending a report to Ensign Grady with instructions for the next stage. I believe we have succeeded in isolating a compound to be used for the production of anti-venom.

That’s great! Bones’ll be happy. Kirk started to remove his clothing and stopped, remembering the lust that had filtered into his mind when his First Officer saw him wearing the blue shirt. He pulled it back down over his head and flopped down on the bed to do some reading before his bondmate returned for the night. 

He didn’t have to wait long. The door swished open. The Vulcan walked through their sitting area and met him at the edge of the bed. 

“Hey, there,” Kirk greeted. He smirked broadly as Spock’s eyes traced over the blue shirt. It pulled tight across his chest and shoulders; he was stockier than his mate. But if the fire licking through their bond was anything to go by, his Vulcan liked that. 

“I’ve worn your clothes before,” he said, reaching to tangle his fingers with Spock’s. Their hands slid together in ways that should have been more awkward than hot, but he couldn’t help the slow burn that itched through his skin. 

“I will not attempt to explain,” Spock muttered, tilting Kirk’s head up to taste his lips. It is entirely illogical. 

Kirk moaned at the mental words, colored with a low rumble that escaped the Vulcan’s chest at the same time. He had only a moment’s warning before strong hands maneuvered him onto the bed and pinned him. 

But he was entirely unprepared for the lashing possessiveness that plowed into him a second later as a hot mouth descended on his throat. He arched his neck into the scorching mark of ownership. Seven years they’d been together. They’d weathered Pon Farr together; they’d fought through moments where they’d never thought they’d see each other again. The ferocity of the passion between them wasn’t new, but it would never get old. 

Kirk wrestled to free one of his hands, which he brought around to clutch at Spock’s hair. The Vulcan tore at the neck of the shirt to expose his collarbone. He nipped at it, suckling bruises into the golden skin. And – as ever – Kirk’s humor decided to butt in. 

“So,” he panted, unable to shut up for even one second, “it is just the clothes, isn’t it? You don’t have some buried fantasy to fuck yourself? Because I think the Ambassador might have a problem with— umph!”

Spock tore a sleeve from the shirt and stuffed the material into his bondmate's mouth. Were he in a more coherent state of mind, he would have taken time to note the effectiveness of the cloth gag in stopping Kirk’s more senseless babble. Jim spat it out eventually, but by then, Spock had gotten him out of his pants and both of them were beyond talking. 

 

Fin.


	2. The Results

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quickly added chapter summing up the research Stavik did in the last chapter.

Stavik sat in the regular common area on deck two. Normally, he preferred the senior officers’ lounge, but in the interest of not appearing reclusive or disdainful of the lower members of the crew, he saw fit to sit in open rooms at least once per week. 

This week, however, his position in a far chair by the wall led him to be privy to a conversation he wished he could have avoided. 

“Kirk is such a slut,” a young yeoman gossiped to her Andorian friend. The Andorian nodded. 

“I know,” she took a sip of her drink. “He’s slept with, like, half the crew.”

“Every time there’s an away mission on a populated planet—”

“—you know he’s banging the natives,” the other girl finished, grinning.

“You know their marriage isn’t real, right?”

“What?”

“Yeah,” the yeoman leaned in, an excited smile on her face. “They’re ‘bonded’ by the Vulcan High Council, but that’s like eloping in Vegas. It’s not really real.”

“But it’s legal, right?”

“Psh.” The yeoman stole a sip from her friend’s glass. “Even if it were, it’s not like either of them honors their commitment.”

“What?!” This time, the Andorian’s voice rose an octave. When she spoke again, her tone was hushed. “I mean, it’s obvious Kirk’s cheating, but Spock? He’s, like, loyaler than a dog.”

“Huh-uh.” A chair scraped the ground across the room. Both froze and looked over their shoulders before leaning their heads closer and returning to a whispered conversation. “He was straighter than a stick before he bonded with Kirk. My bet is, it’s a marriage of convenience. Like, Spock’s gonna lose diplomatic immunity or something if he doesn’t marry a high-ranking officer of Starfleet—”

Stavik had had enough. He snapped his book closed. The hard cover made a satisfying crack, drawing both girls’ attention. He stood and stepped over to address them. 

“First, the marriage between my parents is as real and as valid as any recognized by Federation law. By Vulcan measure, it is the most sacred union two people can achieve. Second, both of my fathers honors the other with the highest devotion and fidelity. Kirk will not abide the touch of a person who is not his bondmate for more than three point two seconds.”

He cut the Andorian of with a swift glare when she would have spoken. 

“Also, ‘loyaler’ is not a word. That said, Spock is unflinchingly loyal to my human father, to the point of endangering himself on seven of the twelve missions in this past month and a half alone. Third, the sexual orientation of your commanding officers is not an appropriate matter of discussion for members of the crew, nor is it any of your concern. Fourth, diplomatic immunity does not extend to either of my fathers for any reason and therefore the logic of your argument does not make sense. If you are finished maligning the reputations and relationship of the two most qualified men aboard this vessel, I advise you to cease speaking.”

They blinked at him. He realized at that moment that the entire room had gone silent. In an effort of extreme control, he willed the green blush away from his face and addressed the women again. 

“I also advise you to cease drinking from the same container. The yeoman has contracted Clovian flu, as evidenced by the symptomatic perspiration between her fingers and eyebrows.”

He strode out of the lounge, keeping his pace at an acceptable speed even though his heart raced from embarrassment. When he reached the solace of his room, he immediately went to his mat and set up for meditation. 

…

 

Two hours had passed when he distantly recognized the sound of his door opening and the swirl of cold air from the hallway rushing in. 

Quiet footsteps approached. Cloth rustled. The person knelt beside him, but did not speak. 

“Sa-mekh,” he greeted. Slowly, he opened his eyes, pulling away from his deepest thoughts. 

“Stavik.” Spock’s voice, steady as always, made him flinch inwardly. But he remained cool on the exterior. His meditation had succeeded in returning a modicum of self-control. 

“You have… heard.” He looked down to avoid seeing the disappointment on Spock’s face. 

“I have. Stavik.” His sa-mekh’s tone demanded that he look up. He did. 

Instead of disappointment, he saw many conflicted things. “You are not angry?”

Spock took a moment to answer. “I am concerned. For you.”

“Clarify.”

Again, Spock waited a moment to choose his words. He watched his sa-mekh closely. “As a child, I suffered similar losses of control prompted by the words and actions of my peers. They… verbally attacked my mother in order to provoke emotional responses from me.”

“They were successful?” he asked, somewhat shocked. His sa-mekh’s control was exemplary. 

Spock’s eyes glanced over to meet his. “I was protective over her… as you are protective of your father and me.”

Stavik looked down again, embarrassment coursing through him. This time, he couldn’t stop the blush that burned his ears. 

“When the familial link was discovered between you and Jim,” Spock went on, “I was… apprehensive. Despite my thorough knowledge of the customs of our people, I did not know how to be responsible for a full-Vulcan child when my own childhood had been tainted by lapses in emotional suppression. Now I wonder if I have failed you.”

Stavik’s eyes snapped up. His mouth opened to respond, to deny, but Spock spoke again. His sa-mekh was looking at the wall beyond him.

“Jim has informed me that such reactions are merely facets of childhood and must be expected. I will, therefore, without conclusive knowledge of a source on which to lay blame, simply give to you the advice with which my father provided me.”

Spock lit another meditation candle and pulled himself into an appropriate position. He spoke quietly, explaining about emotions and the merits of control. Much of this Stavik already knew. But hearing it again from a Vulcan he regarded so highly – from a Vulcan with flaws, he now knew – it registered differently than it had before. They meditated together for two more hours. Spock must have convinced Kirk not to involve himself because the human never interrupted. 

Stavik ate a quiet dinner alone with his sa-mekh that evening before Spock retired for the night. The next morning at breakfast, Lieutenant Sulu pulled him aside after his fathers left for duty and informed him that both the yeoman and the Andorian had received transfer orders after being reported by almost everyone who had been in the common room during the incident yesterday. His eyes were full of pride. 

Fin.


End file.
